


Detectives, balls and proposals

by Winxhelina



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Disguised Sherlock Holmes, F/F, Falling In Love, Femlock, Genderbending, Genderswap, Misunderstandings, Multi, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22023166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winxhelina/pseuds/Winxhelina
Summary: The adventures of Miss Sherlock Holmes and her friend Miss Watson.My attempt at writing Victorian Femlock after reading way too much Jane Austen and ACD.In which there is a ball, a case, a murder and a falling in love...
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Kudos: 4





	Detectives, balls and proposals

**Author's Note:**

> I am quite fan of the Victorian era, but while I don't claim to be absolutely clueless I claim even less to know all that there is to know of it. So friendly corrections are welcome, but hopefully nothing here will seem too wild of unrealistic to take you out of the story. 
> 
> Also, Sherlock's personality here is mostly inspired by the BBC Sherlock, even if the era is more Victorian. It just sort of - happened that way.

Sherlock could hear Miss Watson's hurried footsteps all the way from the street, from the moment she got off the cab Holmes could hear her and a small smile played on her lips as she listened to Mrs. Hudson scolding her for practically rushing in like that. Her cheeks were rosy pink from excitement and bits of her hair were sticking out in places they were definitely not meant to, although she took a moment to compose herself and fix her hair once she reached Holmes's rooms. 

Holmes, for her part, was still in her dressing gown, smoking, looking not at all hurried. 

"I came as soon as I received your telegram," Watson announced, sounding terribly proud of herself:"We're going to a ball!" 

Holmes raised her eyebrow:"Did you read the rest of the note?"

"Yes, you think Mr. Williamson will be murdered," Watson replied, but she didn't sound as excited about this as she did about the ball and that seemed to upset Holmes a bit. 

"Well, there will be an attempt at any case," said Holmes, getting up: "But I intend to stop it. I trust you don't mind helping me with the tedious getting ready business?"

"Oh of course not. But I thought you said the Williamson case was boring?"

"It has some points of interest."

"Like the ball?" Watson asked, grinning. 

Holmes looked almost offended at that. "Please, you are the only one, who would find the idea of _dancing_ and _socialising **fun**_."

"You love dancing," Watson countered even if Holmes was notorious for not attending balls and social events. If she did attend it was almost worse and she had the reputation for being one of the most beautiful, but also one of the coldest ladies out there. Still, Holmes wasn't the type to care for looks and reputations and her father's and brother's support allowed her to live comfortably and even work as a consulting detective. Something Watson greatly envied. Sure, she helped Sherlock on her cases and she had a great deal of medical knowledge from watching her father work as a doctor and assisting him when she could, but it was not the same as having her own career. Even if many people only saw that career as weird hobby of a rich eccentric woman. Of course, those Holmes had actually helped, rarely felt that way anymore. 

Holmes had gone to the other room, pulling things out of her wardrobe like a manic madwoman. She was talking something about a Mr. Smith and Watson realised she had not been listening. She went to stand in the doorway of Holmes's room, just in time to see her throw her purple dress in Watson's direction. 

"Try this," she ordered. 

"But - it's yours. I have dresses of my own that would work."

"Oh please, none of them are...," Holmes considered, clearly making an effort not to be inconsiderate:"Suitable for the event."

Watson blushed. She wasn't poor, not by any means. Her father was a doctor with a practice of a reasonable size and she was one of only two children, so they were well off. However compared to the wealth of the Holmes family, she really might have as well been poor. Besides her brother was going to inherit the family estate after her father's passing and given the complicated nature of their relationship, Jo Anne was unsure she'd be allowed to live in her family home once that happened, especially if Harry actually managed to find a woman stupid enough to wed her. 

"Oh, my dear Watson. Don't sulk, it doesn't suit you," Holmes waved her hand carelessly:"You know I don't care about these things. If I wanted I could spend all my time in the company of obnoxious lords and ladies."

"Not really helping," Watson said dryly and went to dress into the given dress. The colour really did not suit her. Even Holmes seemed to notice, because as she turned around, most likely to ask for Watson's help with her dress, she looked a bit taken aback and not in a good way:"It looks... foreign on you."

"That's because it's made for you and your complexion," Watson said, still sounding a bit sharp. She had seen Sherlock in this particular dress and it gave her the appearance of a goddess, a statue made out of marble. On her it looked ridiculous. Holmes on the other hand looked gorgeous and her dress wasn't even properly on her yet. 

Holmes smiled and looked down on herself:"I know, it's a mess. Would you be so kind to assist me?"

"Of course. I was actually just thinking that you look wonderful. Cold tones suit you." 

Holmes fell very quiet at that:"I take you're still hurt by my comment of the dress?"

"No. Why? Oh. I wasn't - there was no underlining comment there!"

"Wasn't there?"

"No. I don't think you're cold."

"Ah. So you picked up on that after all."

"Only once you drew my attention to it. I couldn't - I wouldn't..."

Holmes smiled:"Understood. Good."

"It's just blue suits you."

"Watson. It's fine." 

Once Holmes was properly dressed and her hair done, the attention was put on Watson once more. Holmes dove back inside her wardrobe. Eventually she found what she was looking for, which was a gift box, wrapped with an elegant bow. She handed it to Jo Anne:"This was supposed to be a Christmas present, but I can always get you something else."

Watson stared speechless for a moment, before she carefully unpacked the most expensive dress she had ever owned. It was gorgeous and the bordeaux fabric really suited her skin-tone much better:"Holmes, I can't possibly accept this."

"It was meant to be yours all along. It's an early Christmas present," she said, once again waving her hand in dismissal. 

"Christmas is months away." 

Regardless. You will look stunning," she did look stunning. Watson had never felt so gorgeous, even standing side-by side with Holmes, all made up, she thought she looked great:"Guess we're ready for the ball," she said, looking at her reflection. Holmes looked upon her with such fondness and admiration it made her feel even better. It was clear she too, thought her friend was beautiful. 

The Hills estate where the ball was held was several miles from London, so it took a while to get there. The time would have been more than sufficient for Holmes to tell Watson of her plans for the evening, but as it so often was, she remained quiet. Sometimes Watson wondered if Holmes only wanted her along so someone would write of her adventures to the Strand.

"Oh please, your company and assistance is much more important to me than whatever romantic fiction you write up, loosely based off it," Sherlock scoffed, even as Watson had said nothing of her thoughts.

"Easy enough to deduce. You asked after my plan. I did not elaborate as much as you would have found desirable, so you looked upon the scenery for a moment, but found nothing there to entertain you, so therefore your gaze returned to me and the paper I am reading, which is, of course the copy of the Strand magazine with your story, written under the name John Watson. Unnecessary really, by now, seeing as half the London knows your true identity and either heavily disapproves of your lifestyle or loves your writing with a burning passion. Or both in many cases. So it was clear to me you thought of your own writing, but they were unhappy thoughts, perhaps it bothers you that so many find what we do not suited for the fair sex. However, given that today you've been very irritable with me and that you found my reluctance to reveal all the details of my plan to you, however expected such a course of action should be on my part, irritable, I figured it was likely what you were thinking about."

"I am not irritated with you. In fact I am most grateful, both that you have brought me along to what surely proves to be a fantastic event where I wouldn't have been invited without knowing your acquaintance as well as for the most extravagant present. However, I can not help, but feel a bit useless, if you won't fill me in."

"You are not useless. You will be of tremendous help when the time is right. Just as you _always are, my dear,"_ she emphasised with a smile. 

That answer seemed to please Watson and she was content remaining quiet for the remainder of their journey, enjoying the scenery instead. The manor, where the ball was held was impressive on it's own, but the way it was decorated left her nearly breathless. Every room was filled with light and stunning flowers of all sorts. Jo Anne was so busy looking around she nearly missed Mr. Hills's warm welcome words. 

It was Mr. Hills, who had turned to Holmes with the Williamson case, seeing as Williamson himself was just as certain that he was going to be murdered as he was certain that no tabloid famous celebrity detective, a woman no less, could stop his murder. From the single time Watson had met him it was clear that while he found all womankind to be suited for nothing more than cooking meals, cleaning and wearing womanly clothes, he held special contempt in his heart for Holmes specifically, having familiarised himself with her work through Watson's writing. Much as Holmes tried to assure him that her friend's writing was "almost entirely fiction" Williamson barely managed to acknowledge Holmes existing in the same space as him, much less listen to her seriously.

"Did you manage to talk Williamson into attending the ball?" Holmes asked Hills, who had, despite his friend arguing against it in every way, insisted that Holmes take the case. Watson had at first thought Holmes wouldn't, judging by her reaction, but here they now were. Well, she couldn't really blame Holmes for not wanting to help a man who had been most rude to her.

"I did, albeit with great difficulty. He is quite certain that whoever has been sending him those notes will take this opportunity to strike him down."

"In this one thing it seems, we are in agreement," said Holmes and she seemed quite pleased.

"But you will stop him, no doubt?"

"Oh certainly, but first I must make some preparations. Please be so kind as to show my friend Miss Watson to where some of your other guests have already gathered."

Watson seemed reluctant to let Holmes go on her own, but she had run off before she could really protest and Mr. Hills was a genuinely pleasant young man, who seemed invested in showing Miss Watson around the estate, before the dancing happened. Watson wondered if Hills was interested in her writing (for he had certainly read her stories, this much was clear) or herself as a person. She thought the man seemed to flirt with her here and there. He was a lovely young man, but Jo Anne felt no deeper feelings for him and therefore did her best not to fan his needlessly either. She had been proposed to twice in her life and had turned both of these men down, much to the disappointment of her father. She did not wish to bring such disappointment on him a third time, nor hurt the feelings of Mr. Hills, who seemed sweet and sensitive even if he did nothing to ignite deeper passions in Miss Watson.

By the time they reached the ball room every guest's attention was firmly fixed on the conversation taking place between Mr. Williamson and Miss Holmes. Jo Anne could not hear the exact words being spoken from the other side of the room, but she knew they had not been of the kind sort as Holmes made her way towards her, fuming:"He will not listen."

"Does it really shock you?"

"No, but this would be easier if he did," Holmes pointed out and stormed off.

"Are we leaving?" Watson called after her.

"No," announced Holmes, but left the ballroom anyway.

This left the semi-scandalous Miss Watson alone and the room clearly seemed to divide into those, interested in talking to her about her writing and asking her for a dance and those who avoided her like a plague. 

The first dance was nearly over, Holmes was nowhere to be seen and Watson was sharing a dance with a rather boring fellow, who went by the name of Mr. Hollow, when the most captivating young man Watson had ever seen walked into the ballroom. Watson was sure every woman in the room turned to look at him. He was not so very tall, but lean enough that it made him seem much taller than he actually was, dressed in a way that spoke of wealth, but more importantly of good taste and of a man who kept up with the latest trends. His eyes shone with energy and intellect from even across the room and Watson instantly found him much more captivating than her current partner.

She was delighted when Mr. Hills came to introduce the newcomer as Mr. Smith, his distant cousin from Newcastle, who had recently come to live in London. She was even more delighted when this incredibly charming and handsome gentleman, whose face looked as if carved out of pale marble, framed by contrasting dark hair, asked her, of all the people, for a dance. 

"Are you perhaps interested in my writing?" Watson asked, for she could see no other reason, why a man clearly both handsome and wealthy, would ask for her for his first dance. Perhaps because Hills had introduced them. But why had he in the first place?

"I am familiar with them," said Mr. Smith, seemingly bemused by something, and his rich baritone sent unexpected shivers down Watson's back.

"But you are not - entertained by them?"

"Entertained? Well, I suppose they serve well enough as entertainment if that was your aim. I was always under the impression that you attempted to truthfully tell the readers about those little adventures you and Miss Holmes undertake."

"Oh, I do. They are true. I'm merely trying to guess whether you fall under the section of guests that find my writing despicable or those who enjoy its merits." 

"And is there no in-between?"

"There seems not to be."

"Ah. Well, I do not disapprove of your writing, but I am not here to tell you how much I enjoy it either."

"Then I must say I am rather confused as to what I have done to deserve the honour of your first dance at this ball."

This seemed to genuinely surprise the man:"Have you no redeeming qualities other than the fact that you can put words after one another in a fashion that the general public finds entertaining?"

Miss Watson blushed:"I hope I would, but my other merits do not outweigh those of the other ladies here."

"You mean to tell me they're all richer than you," Mr. Smith said rather more bluntly than was appropriate. 

Miss Watson blushed and wondered what had given her away. Was it something in her behaviour? Because surely, thanks to the dress Holmes had given her she looked every bit as lovely as all the other guests. Maybe even nicer than some of them.

"Easy enough to observe, Miss Watson. The dress is doubtless a gift from a dear friend. Miss Holmes, perhaps."

"That is incredible! How did you know!?" Miss Watson all but gasped. Mr. Smith was becoming more captivating by the minute and where he lacked in politeness he made up for in plenty with wit and good humour, which Miss Watson appreciated so much more. 

"Let us all have our little secrets. I assure you, Miss Watson. It's really quite simple. As for your concerns, I would much rather prefer a dancing partner with excellent knowledge in medicine, smarts and beauty than simply one, who has money, but who can speak of nothing besides corsets and ribbons."

"I trust all women can speak of more given the chance."

"I am uncertain as I've met some men incapable of speaking of little else besides card games, cigarettes and hunting."

Jo Anne laughed. She had rarely met a man with such views, charm and wit. It seemed Mr. Smith truly had very little regard as to how he was perceived by the rest of the ballroom, because he also asked for his next dance to be spent with Miss Watson, despite there being other women, clearly very interested as well. Miss Watson of course, happily took the offer. 

It was after their second dance that Mr. Smith said:"I think I must speak with Mr. Williamson. His nerves are getting the best of him and he is ready to leave the party and change out of his clothes. An act which will surely be his last."

"You know of Mr. Williamson? And of the danger upon his life?" Miss Watson asked and she suddenly recalled that Sherlock had mentioned a Mr. Smith, but what she had said about him, Watson could not recall. Could Mr. Smith be the culprit? She certainly gave Miss Watson an odd look then:"Yes. Yes, I do. We have not a moment to lose." 

Surprised to be asked along, but not opposed to the idea, Miss Watson followed to be a witness to most remarkable events that followed. Mr. Williamson was already leaving, waiting for his carriage, when Mr. Smith caught up to him and said in his rich deep baritone:"You will not be murdered. I'n afraid you have already been murdered several hours ago." He then, proceeded to tell a rather stunning tale of how Mr. Williamson had been stabbed with a very fine and sharp object several hours prior, how taking off his belt and the rest of his clothes would loosen the pressure and how he would bleed to his death. Jo Anne had never heard anyone aside from Miss Holmes deduce things in such a manner. Mr. Williamson himself remained sceptical nearly until the end, but thankfully his friend Mr. Hills managed to convince him. 

"Fortunately, we have a medical professional here to help you," said Mr. Smith, looking at Miss Watson. 

And so, it fell on Jo Anne, to save the man's life while he rambled on about women only being good at playing nursemaids and not being actual doctors. He got a lot quieter once Mr. Smith's theories were proved and it turned out he had, in fact, been stabbed. The murderer had turned out to be one of Mr. Hills servants, who he had hired after the same man had been fired by Mr. Williamson for ridiculous reasons. Having only spent so many minutes in Mr. Williamson's presence Miss Watson had to admit she could see how one might want to murder him after having endured him for a few years. Perhaps that was also why Mr. Hills had hired a man his friend had chosen to fire without thinking twice. Perhaps he had felt for the servant. 

All this went down, the mystery was solved and the murderer captured without Holmes so much as turning up. No one could find the woman and no one knew where she went or what method of transportation she had used as no horses nor carriages were missing. She couldn't have walked the distance back home. It seemed that as much as they had solved one mystery, they now had another at their hands.

Mr. Smith insisted he take Miss Watson home with his own carriage, but much as Jo Anne would have liked that, she insisted that she couldn't leave without her friend and without knowing what had happened to her. Mr. Smith went to look for Sherlock, but Sherlock soon returned without him, looking rather disheveled and claiming to have been in the gardens looking for clues the entire time. 

"I'm afraid this case is too difficult for my abilities," said Holmes and Watson was in for another shock of the evening. "I have no idea, who might be after your friend Mr. Williamson. I think you may have to take your money back."

"Oh, but didn't you hear?! We caught the killer! The Yard is on their way now!" 

Sherlock looked at Watson, looking much too uninterested in the entire matter:"Oh did you, Watson? Marvellous. Great job. You're becoming better than I am at this. Really."

"Oh no, it wasn't me. It was Mr. Smith. You must meet him! He is the most remarkable man you'll ever meet! In fact he just went to look for you earlier."

"Oh, well, good for him. Someone tell him I was found. Let us go home, Watson."

One might think that at this point all that might baffle Miss Watson that evening had already happened, but another such thing occurred when she and Miss Holmes were just about to leave, Mr Hills said:"Miss Holmes. I think you owe Miss Watson an apology. She seemed really quite taken with Mr. Smith. It seems a bit cruel."

Watson had no idea what those words meant and asked Holmes for an explanation as soon as they were safely away from prying ears in their carriage. 

"Oh, nothing, I'm sure. Tell me, you're not seriously taken with this Mr. Smith, are you?"

"Well, I think I actually might be. You see, he really is the most remarkable man I have ever met. He can deduce much in the same way you can, he's witty and humorous and sharp-tongued, a bit rude, but I don't mind and he is quite possibly the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on!" Miss Watson explained with a growing smile and growing enthusiasm, while Sherlock's face only grew more pale and ashen with each word.

"Goodness, you sound as if he has robbed your heart in that one evening," Sherlock said, sounding appalled.

"If any man ever could, he could," Watson said brightly and Holmes seemed horrified.

"Oh dear Lord, what have I done..." she muttered. Watson, who was now distressed seeing her best friend in such a shape, took Holmes's hands in hers and spoke to him softly:"Whatever is the matter? Listen, even when I do marry, and I doubt it would be with Mr. Smith, because I have so little to offer to a man of his class, we will remain friends. I will still visit you and assist you in cases."

"You're really much too humble. I'm sure Mr. Smith would be delighted to be with you. After all, did he not dance all his dances with you?" 

"Only because the ball was cut short due to there being a murderer." Watson said, not thinking to ask how Holmes knew this. 

"You were still his one and only choice," Holmes pointed out, but her face still looked pale with worry and Watson tried to entertain her and tell her of how the murderer was found, but Holmes seemed even more disinterested in that than he had in mysterious Mr. Smith. Watson figured it must have been quite a blow to the woman's ego to have not only be unable to solve the case, but to also have it solved by someone else, some unknown distant cousin of Mr. Hills who was not a detective at all. (At least as far as Miss Watson knew, but she didn't really know, so she asked.)

"Is Mr. Smith a detective too?" she asked her friend. 

Holmes waved her hand:"Possibly. He must not be a very good one with the most uninventive alias in the world."

"Alias?"

"Mr. Smith. Oh, surely, it must be. Plain as day."

"Or he could just be called Mr. Smith," Somehow Miss Watson didn't like Holmes suggesting Mr. Smith was a fraud. It suggested everything else might have been an act as well and while that might have been a perfectly valid explanation to everything that had transpired it was not an explanation Watson wanted to believe:"I think you mentioned a Mr. Smith earlier. When we were getting ready for a ball," she suddenly recalled, hoping to find out more about the man she liked if Holmes knew more. 

"Yes, although clearly you failed to hear the rest of my sentence, otherwise you wouldn't have gone and _fallen in love with the man,"_ there was obvious distaste in her tone. 

"Why? Is he a criminal of some sort? A mastermind who works above the law?" He had certainly seemed intelligent enough to pull that off. 

"No. He is no such thing," Holmes said, but didn't seem keen to elaborate. 

"Then tell me, woman! Do not keep me in the dark. Why should I not like him? Is there some dark secret he hides that I ought to know? Some fatal flaw?"

"No. He is as moral and decent as he is a man."

"Then I see no problem in me being quite taken with him. Really, I am ever so relieved. Between you and I, I was beginning to wonder if perhaps, I was incapable of such higher emotions as love, no man has ever made my heart beat so fast or no one's tone had made shivers run down my back like his voice."

Holmes only looked more pained with each passing second:"Watson, I beg of you. Put him out of your mind."

"Why?" Watson asked, but the next moment realisation dawned on her face and she fell into her seat looking defeated:"Because a woman in my situation will never be asked to marry a man like him? Holmes, I know, I am not a fanciful child," she said, but still looked hurt. 

"No. I'm sure he'd be delighted to marry you, I just wish you'd forget him." Holmes said, but no matter how much Watson pressed on as to why, Holmes refused to provide a meaningful answer. The two friends spent the rest of their ride in solemn silence and when Holmes stormed off to her room without having dinner (seeing as they had not had had the chance to eat at the ball) Watson worried that another one of her dark moods may be upon them. She snuck into her friend's bedroom, finding her with her face him in her pillows, her long dark hair a mess and she herself looking in deep distress.

"What troubles you so deeply, my dearest friend?" Watson asked and sat on Holmes's bedside, running a hand through her hair. Holmes looked at her and she seemed miserable, but said nothing, so eventually Watson left to turn in for the night.

The next morning she woke late and made it downstairs for breakfast in the most casual of attires, dressed in the sort of lazy bohemian way, that Holmes usually indulged in and that Watson did also find quite comfortable, but only resorted to when she was certain there was no one else around. So you can imagine her shock, when, as she made her way downstairs she found no one else there, but Mr. Smith, dressed every bit as impeccable as he had last night. If anything he was ridiculously overdressed, wearing the same outfit he had had on at the ball. Miss Watson had no time to mentally question the man's attire as she very nearly fainted upon seeing him there and then ran back upstairs as quickly as possible hoping she had not been seen. 

"Miss Watson. This really wasn't necessary I only require a moment of your time," said Mr. Smith when Watson finally, much later, emerged once more from her bedroom in a perfect state of dress. 

"I assure you, it was, Mr. Smith. You would have lost all respect for me had you seen me in the state I was in."

"Oh, I very much doubt it," said the charming Mr. Smith, but something else seemed to have occurred to Miss Watson, because instead of listening she rushed to her friend's bedroom:"Holmes, we have a visitor. Please dress yourself." However Holmes was not in her quarters, making Miss Watson turn to Mr. Smith:"Have you seen Miss Holmes?"

"Yes. She was forced to leave, but she will certainly make another appearance very shortly."

"You saw her?" 

"Oh, I assure you, I see her every day."

"You know each other?"

Mr. Smith sighed:"Oh, how I wish you had figured it out on your own by this point," her rich baritone faded away into a different tone and as he spoke his voice went from his charmingly masculine tone to another one that Watson knew very well:"I really do owe you, my sincerest apologies, my dear Watson. I thought you were in on it all along, playing along and simply teasing me, when we danced, it was only when you started to look for me so desperately that I realised you had no idea Mr. Smith was really me," Holmes removed her wig and suit jacket and watched as shocked Miss Watson fell into an armchair looking very faint. Her initial shock quickly faded into feeling of hurt and and embarrassment as tears filled her eyes and she felt them run down her cheeks. She was ready to run out, but Holmes seemed equally affected by this display of emotions and fell next to her friend:"I am sorry. I did not mean to trick you, but for obvious reasons I could not just betray my disguise. One I needed if I wanted any chance at getting through to Mr. Williamson."

"Why didn't you just tell me from the start?"

"I did. You refused to listen. All your thoughts occupied by fantasies of the ball."

Miss Watson had nothing to say to that. She just sat there, unable to stop herself from crying. 

"I assure you, I had no intention of toying with your feelings. In fact I was being my very genuine true self hardly thinking that you would find _that_ attractive."

"If I find it likeable in you, why should I not like these qualities in a man?"

Sherlock shrugged:"Indeed. Well, I had never contemplated someone falling for me for the sort of person I actually am." 

"And I never thought I'd actually find someone who I could so easily fall for. Well, turns out they don't exist after all."

"Oh, but they do. They're me."

"But I can't marry _you."_

"You don't have to marry anyone."

"I do. Once father dies and my brother marries I'll have no one to be with. Nowhere to live."

"Live with me," Holmes suggested without a pause. 

"And if you'll marry?"

Holmes laughed:"Can you imagine me a housewife?"

"Considering some hours ago I imagined you my husband, I'd say nothing is out of the realm of possibility." 

Holmes thought about it:"Well, if you must indeed marry and I suppose you see you must, then marry me."

"What? I can't."

"Well, marry Mr. Smith at any case. I assure you, he will be a most suitable husband to you. He will not mind your writing or our cases or you being with me all the time. You'll barely see him. And - should you like to he would agree to accompany you and he does most certainly have the warmest feelings in his hearts towards you."

Miss Watson wasn't sure what to do with that statement. It was so loaded. It raised questions she did not dare to ask, to clarify the nature of her best friend's love for her. Still Holmes seemed to wait for an answer, but she gave Watson another moment to think and added, in an effort to ease the tension a bit:"Oh, I do wish I had given him a better name. Jo Anne Smith does not suit you."

Neither of them laughed and as Watson could tell Holmes wanted an answer, so she said:"That is madness, Holmes. Absolutely insane. Very dangerous."

"Is that a yes then?" Holmes asked with a smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> I really would like to write another chapter for this, but I am notorious for leaving multi-chapter stuff unfinished so for now, let's call it finished. Let me know if you'd like another chapter.


End file.
